The Fourteenth of October
by enomix
Summary: A seven-part story about how Katie and Oliver's relationship grows and changes through the years; from 1990 to 2020. Friendship, love, and complications... Will their attachment last the toll of time? Written for alohomora 080's "One Day" challenge. Please R&R!
1. 1990

**Written in response to the One Day Competition by alohomora080****.  
Disclaimer: The characters and world of Harry Potter belong to JKR, all I own is the plot of this story; no copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

**14|October|1990**

It was drizzling steadily with furious indigo raindrops cast across the ceiling of the Great Hall, and below the hustle and bustle of the chattering students, Katie could distinguish faint echoes of the crying wind. The scene around her was that of any other evening, yet Katie felt that something was amiss. Around her everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves; and certainly, the food was delicious – but there was a thought nagging in the back of her mind; though she was unable to identify it, or why it was there.

Her first month at Hogwarts had been incredibly interesting and she had found it relatively easy to make new friends during her first few weeks. Her classes had proved to be fascinating, and she especially enjoyed Transfiguration, though Professor McGonagall had recognized her natural talent and thus was encouraging and pushing her to do more. Katie did not mind the pressure, though.

And it was because she had been so happy in adapting to her new school that she could not understand why she was feeling the way she was. What was it that made her feel incomplete, as if something was yet to be discovered? She felt a stranger to the turmoil around her, taking part in the conversations yet her mind wandering distant, to a place she did not understand nor recognize.

"Katie? Are you listening?" asked Fred from across the table.

"Sorry –I was just thinking. What was it you said?" she replied, looking up at the twin.

"We were wondering whether you would like to –" "study with us in the library after dinner," finished George.

The girl reflected for a moment. She did not have much to do, they had a History of Magic paper due in on Wednesday and a Potions exam on Friday, but it was only Monday and she had hoped to spend her evening reading in the common room. Still, she could just as easily read in the library, so why not go with her friends?

"All right. I have to talk to Professor Anima about our Defence Against the Dark Arts research project, so I'll meet you there."

"Great!" grinned the twins together.

* * *

The clock chimed seven and Katie had only read a chapter in the two hours they had been studying at the library. It wasn't that she was a lazy student, but every time her eyes had tried to take in the words, that's all they ever were. Just words. No pictures forming in her mind; no longing to turn the page; nothing.

"Katie, you've been staring at that page for the past fifteen minutes?" said Fred from across the table. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine; just a bit tired. I think I'll go get some fresh air," she replied, sighing.

"Good, we'll see you tomorrow then."

She had walked half-heartedly around the corridors, and she suddenly found herself in front of the Quidditch pitch, where the Gryffindor team was in the middle of practise. Cloaks of red and gold were glittering in the last dying rays of the sun; whizzing around the shining hoops as they danced in the sky.

Katie was awestruck. She gazed longingly at the broomsticks as they flashed from side to side, their flight swift.

She had seen Quidditch before, and her cousins back home had showed her how to mount a broom; but she had never seen it so clearly in front of her; such grace as the players zoomed around against the burning colours of dusk.

There was a curious elegance in their synchronized movement, as if every motion had been agreed on beforehand.

At that moment, Katie realized that Quidditch was something she was going to have to try. She was aware of the fact that first years weren't allowed to have brooms, but she would do her best to train in the holidays and get on the team in second year.

Her subjects were interesting, she was an excellent student with a natural academic talent; but the purpose that she had been looking for had just been uncovered. And within her, she felt the burning desire to start something new.

* * *

Oliver had not had a very good day.

His classes had not gone as well as he would have liked (he had forgotten to do the Herbology assignment and had hence been given detention for Wednesday afternoon); and the Quidditch captain, Peter Pearson, had forced them to stay on the pitch until nine, unsatisfied with the progress they were making.

"Flying well is not enough to win the Cup; we need excellence. Wood! Spinnet! Johnson! Let's try the triangle manoeuvre again…"

Practice had gone by in the same manner as usual, and though Oliver tried to give it all he could, in the back of his mind the thought of the unfinished Potions essay awaiting him in his dormitory lingered, preventing him from concentrating fully on the game. Which had meant that he had received more shouts from Peter than what was usual. In fact, the Quidditch Captain had a talk with him after practice.

"Listen Wood, you're a good Keeper and have the determination to be great, but I just need you to concentrate when we're playing, okay? I don't know what you have on your mind, but learn to ignore it. You're one of the best on the team, I have high hopes for you – don't let them go to waste by slacking."

And he knew that Peter was right. He knew that he should be more applied; in fact, his own mind was forcing him to adopt the determined attitude that was needed, and he was used to pushing himself until he had lost consciousness of what he was doing and his body moved instinctually without hesitation and his thoughts had become the game. He knew how badly Peter wanted to win the Quidditch Cup this year, and how horribly humiliating last year's defeat in the semi-finals had been. As a matter of fact, Oliver himself had felt the pressure building up and knew that there was something to be done about it – he, too, felt a fervent desire to win.

As he walked out of the changing rooms and towards the castle, he suddenly spotted a figure sitting unmoving on the grass in the darkness.

"Are you alright?" he whispered into the shadows, walking towards it until he could discern its face in the faint moonlight – it was a first-year girl. He thought to remember her from the sorting ceremony… Her legs had trembled as she had gone up to the Sorting Hat; her eyes lit up when it named her a Gryffindor… In fact, if he remembered correctly, he had offered a seat next to him and given her a welcoming smile.

"Yes, I'm fine; I was just watching you all fly," she replied. Her eyes, a minute ago so blank, were suddenly looking at him with a remarkable intensity; dark pools of brown that seemed to draw everything in.

"Well, it's a bit late for a first-year to be out here; if any of the professors find you they'll put you in detention… I'll walk you up to the castle."

Katie nodded, smiling while getting up. She took _The Story of Telga Timbert_ from where it had laid next to her, and started to make her way up the slope.

She knew Oliver by sight. He had been the first to congratulate her admission to Gryffindor in the Great Hall, and she had sat next to him sometimes during meals, as Angelina and Alicia, two Gryffindor girls whom Katie spent a lot of time with, knew him quite well.

"So you're interested in Quidditch, then?" he asked, smiling.

"Very much. I'm not a very good flyer, but I hope to be as soon as I get my own broom," she explained.

"If you had the patience to watch us practice, I'm sure you'll be great; in fact, although you do need a bit of natural talent, Quidditch is not all that difficult. Once you get to know your broom and how to fly it, it becomes automatic; you don't have to think anymore. And the only secret to that is practice and hard work."

It was true. Oliver had a family tradition of Keepers and Quidditch ran through is blood, yet he was highly aware of the fact that nothing would have come of his talent had he not given up innumerable hours and put in all his effort to improve.

They continued to talk a bit about Quidditch, and in a few minutes had arrived in front of the Fat Lady. "Peruvian Vipertooth", spoke Oliver, and the portrait flung open.

The common room was deserted; it was already rather late and therefore quite usual for most students to have gone to bed.

Katie was the first to say goodbye. "Well, I must be off, I have to start an essay on the Soap Blizzard of 1378. Thank you for accompanying me back."

Oliver smiled. "It was nice talking to you. Tell you what, one of these days we can go down the Quidditch pitch after lunch and I'll teach you a few tricks."

The first-year's eyes lit up.

"Would you really?"

He laughed. "Of course, why not? Good night, Katie."

That night she had fallen asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed that! I will be putting up more chapters as soon as possible, as I said, this story will haven seven parts, all taking place on the 14th of October but of different years... All constructive criticism is welcome and any comments you may have! :) Thanks for reading!**


	2. 1993

**14|October|1993**

"Hey, Katie… hey! Oy!"

The Gryffindor turned around brusquely, almost bumping into George Weasley. He pulled back quickly.

"What do you want?" she asked.

George looked at her curiously. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, did we?" he joked, only to earn a murderous look from her. "Alright, alright; just joking… what is wrong with you today? I was only going to ask you if you wanted to come with us to The Shining Mantle on Saturday."

Katie's eyes lit up a little.

"Who's us?"

The twin grinned. "I knew you'd want to come. It'll be me and Fred, Angelina and Alicia, Lee, Tim Brightstone – I don't think you know him? – and maybe Oliver."

Katie was silent.

"It'll be fun! We've asked for McGonagall's permission to stay at Lee's parents' for the weekend, and she said yes! So all you have to do is fill in this form get your parents to send a letter saying you can go and – "

"– you'll be able to join us this weekend," finished Fred, appearing behind her.

The Chaser's mind was whirling around; she'd never been out of Hogwarts just for the weekend before. She was incredibly pleased that Fred and George would consider her company for this outing; she was a year younger than the rest of them and she'd never thought that Quidditch would have brought her so close to people she did not share any of her lessons with, but it had been so and they had indeed turned into her best friends. They never did much, just go for a butterbeer in Three Broomsticks or pull a few pranks on Filch, but now… going to the Shining Mantle on a Saturday night? It was more than she was allowed to do in her summer holidays.

The Shining Mantle looked like an ordinary coffee shop on Destart Street in magical London, a ten-minute walk away from Diagon Alley. On the inside, however, one could discover that it wasn't a coffee shop at all – the place was immense; decorated with floating lanterns that flashed to the beat of the music and a long and sleek bar that served every cocktail imaginable. Each weekend emerging artists and bands would play and the place would fill up with young witches and wizards, eager to dance the night away.

Katie had heard all sorts of stories about the kinds of parties that went on there… Excessive carousals, encounters of lavish thrill, tales of audacious dancing. Quite frankly, it both scared and excited her. She could imagine herself walking through the mass of jumping and swaying bodies, their minds alive with the sparks of alcohol.

"So, what do you say?"

"But isn't the security really tight there?" she inquired, sure that she had also heard stories of underage wizards that had unsuccessfully tried to gain access to the nightclub.

Fred smiled. "It is… but you are standing in front of the two most astute young wizards in the history of wizardry. We have developed – "

" – a fool proof and infallible plan – "

" – to get in undetected. All _you _need to worry about is getting this letter signed as soon as possible, so go up to the Owlery right _now_!"

The Quidditch field was deserted when she arrived for practice. The sun was setting behind the mountains, casting its last ardent rays over the grass, diffracting them through the hoops and forming odd shadows across the green.

Katie pulled off her cloak, flinging it onto the floor, and flew into the clear sky. The wind pierced her cheeks as she dove up and down, in and out of the hoops, shooting through the air from one side of the pitch to the other.

Oliver was watching her from just outside the changing rooms. He had come down a bit early in order to get the material ready, but couldn't help but stare at the Chaser sped through the sky, diligent as ever in her practice. He admired her enthusiasm, her vitality but overall, her determination and commitment. Never had he encountered someone so passionate about Quidditch, someone who was prepared to sacrifice such an incredible amount of their time to dedicate it to a sport they loved.

He smiled as he recalled how intimidated she had been on her first day of practice two years ago, her arms trembling as she mounted her Cleansweep 11. He'd been impressed with the broomstick, which Katie had informed him was a gift from her great-aunt Mathilda Greenbone, a former Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies who often told her the story of the seven-day match against the Heidelberg Harriers in 1953. Quite frankly, he had recognized her gift for flying instantly; even during her try-outs she had moved gracefully through the air, diving shyly through the hoops. Oliver was pleased with the way she had progressed these past years. She had never let him down, never once missed practice, never failed to give the games her best.

Their relationship had grown as their Quidditch had done. As Katie spent most of her time either on the Quidditch pitch or studying in the library, the people she most talked to were her fellow teammates, which of course meant that she and Oliver spent quite a lot of time together. He had become fond of her company, he felt that she truly understood what he was about, how his mind worked. They shared the same passions and often the same opinions about different things – she constantly reminded him of himself, and so their friendship had only been natural.

"Ollie! I thought I'd find you here!" came a voice behind him.

The Quidditch Captain turned around and found himself face to face with Grace Archibald.

"Apparently someone set fire to one of the portraits in the Gryffindor Common Room and McGonagall told me to tell you that everyone that was in there's been put in detention… which means that you don't really have a team for practice today."

Oliver cursed under his breath. "I'm going to kill the twins one of these days – and with the match against Ravenclaw coming up – this is just – can't believe what they were thinking – so irresponsible – ruin our chances –"

"Calm down, you can practice tomorrow!" laughed Grace. "Anyway," she continued, coming closer towards him, "you're always worrying about Quidditch."

Her face was only a few inches away from his now, and her hands had wrapped around his neck. "It's about time you gave some thought to me," she whispered into his ear, and started to kiss him.

Katie could see them from afar. She had spotted Oliver a while back when he walked out of the changing rooms, and she had also seen Grace walking towards him from the castle. By this time, she had been surprised at the emptiness of the pitch – most of the team were usually down by now owing to Wood's strict no-nonsense attitude – and landed agilely onto the grass a few metres away from the couple.

Oliver pulled away from Grace, though she kept her arms around him firmly.

"Hello, Bell," she said, "Apparently the rest of your team is in detention so you can go back to the castle and do whatever."

"Detention?" Katie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oliver pushed Grace away. "Yes. They've set fire to a portrait, the idiots," he sighed. "Listen, we'll reschedule for sometime this week," he continued apologetically, "we need to go over the pentad strategy again."

Katie nodded. "Well, I'll just stay here for a bit."

"Cool. See you later then," smiled Oliver, and started to head up towards the Castle.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt you to do something other than fly," said Grace, turning around. "You're already very good, go do something fun!"

The Chaser frowned. "I happen to find this fun," she muttered under her breath, and sped into the sky.

She was used to it – Grace and Oliver had been going out from the end of last year, and apparently she had stayed at his house for a week during the holidays. They made a strange couple – despite his handsome features and appealing personality, Oliver's obsession with Quidditch meant that few girls ever went on a second date, and his longest lasting girlfriend had been Laura Roartank, with whom he'd gone out for just three months.

Nonetheless, things seemed to be going splendidly with Grace. She respected his commitment to Quidditch and still managed to find him time to spend with her. A fierce Ravenclaw, her somehow blurry romantic history was known around the school – there were rumours of her having seduced a lonely Slytherin or two during the previous Winter Ball, though as far as Katie was concerned, no one really knew anything about her for certain. Grace had a certain mysterious aura around her; a fierce Ravenclaw, her eyes were piercingly intelligent and analytical yet still exuded fieriness and allure.

Katie's own feelings for Oliver were quite muddled and unclear. She had always been able to count on him; he'd taken on the role of friend and mentor from the very first time she had met him, and through these years their friendship had evolved into a degree of mutual confidence that she wouldn't have thought possible. Oliver confided in her for everything; he told her about his worries for the next game, about his uncertain plans for the future, about his dreams to go professional with the sport he loved, about how his relationship with Grace was progressing, about his feelings and his state of mind. And Katie did the same. She told him everything, didn't spare a single detail when talking to him. The captain knew everything there was to know about her… except for one secret she hadn't dared tell. Katie was very much aware of that she did in fact feel something for him, though she wasn't exactly sure what.

She had other male friends, such as Fred, George and Lee – and though it was true that there was the casual joke or odd sexual tension, there was nothing other than friendship between them. With Oliver, on the other hand, it wasn't just that she enjoyed his company – she knew deep down inside that she had developed another view of him, one that differed greatly from the friend that he had initially been to her.

But she had learnt to detach herself from her feelings. And at this moment, in the air in the husky light of dusk, Quidditch was all that mattered to her.

The wind echoed through the windows as they kissed furiously in the starlight. It was long past curfew, but both of them were on night patrol until midnight because Filch was in the hospital wing. He had toppled over a fallen portrait – most likely the work of Peeves – and had broken several ribs, caught his hair on the staircase railing which had caused part of it to tear of, and landed on to p of a burning lantern that had mercilessly scorched his arms. In his place, the House prefects had been assigned the task of patrolling the corridors for the next month or so, until Filch got over the traumatic incident.

They had not originally planned to meet – in fact they had not even been aware that they had been designated the same patrolling night until they bumped into each other in front of the kitchens a few days before. Since then they had met each other in the Astronomy Tower, indulging in moments stolen from the night.

"Ollie?"  
"Yes," he murmured against her skin, his lips caressing her neck.

"I saw McLaggen coming this way when I was getting here," she whispered, her arms wrapped around him tightly.

"What does it matter?" he mumbled, continuing to kiss her fiercely.

"I just – maybe – don't you think that perhaps – I don't know – do you think that we might be getting a bit carried away?"

He pulled back abruptly.

"Carried away?" he asked, disbelievingly.

She nodded.

"No, I don't think we're getting carried away," he said, shaking his head. "Grace, we've been going out for 7 months now. I don't think kissing in the Astronomy Tower is wrong –"

"I didn't mean that," she replied, sitting up straight. "It's just… I don't think a relationship should be just… _this_. Like you've said, we've been going out for more than half a year and yet, we're still the same as we were when we started."

"I wouldn't say that we haven't done _anything_ interesting…" Oliver smiled.

Grace hit him on the head jokingly. "I can't believe you just went there."

"_Just_ went there? If I recall correctly, we went there a few months ago –"

She laughed. "Just promise me that we won't end up like those couples that spend their days snogging and don't do anything fun or talk to each other about important things."

Oliver took her hands in his, noting their friendly warmth, feeling the pulse on her wrist, and looked straight into her ebony eyes.

"I promise," he whispered before kissing her.


	3. 1995

**14|October|1995**

"Good morning, Mr Wood," said Professor McGonagall. "I trust Puddlemere is treating you well?"

Oliver laughed, and nodded.

"Yes, yes; it's absolutely fantastic. They make us train hard but you know I'm no stranger to work…"

The Head of House smiled. "It's good to see you back, here for the first match, I presume?"

"Yes, I wanted to see how the team is getting on. Give them some support for this season."

"Well, Miss Bell has been following your example, I don't think they've had a day off all week… Make me proud, Mr Wood," she concluded, her eyes shining.

He nodded, smiling, and took his leather suitcase up the steps of the Castle.

His life in Puddlemere had indeed been going fantastically; he was finally playing at a highly competitive level that demanded his absolute dedication and surrounded by people that shared his radical passion for Quidditch. They'd given him the week off though, in return for his hard training during the summer, and he'd decided to use it to visit Hogwarts and see his old friends again.

"Oliver! What are you doing here?!" exclaimed Fred, surprised. "We didn't think that you'd use your free week to come visit us – we weren't expecting the 'surprise' you said you'd have for us to be a visit from you!"

He laughed. "Well, I'm here, ready to see you train through the week, give you some extra tips and make sure you don't slack for the first match!"

"Well seeing how Katie's been pushing us, we hardly needed another watchful eye to control us," said George. "She's been even worse than you!"

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Even _I_ didn't think that was possible. Well, I'm off to settle down."

"Where are you staying?" asked Fred.

"You coming back to the dorms?" added George with a grin.

"No, sorry. Apparently the school's full of guest rooms we didn't really know about. They've put me behind one of Sir Cadogan's portraits on the 6th floor. I'm curious to see what it's like. So I'll see you later then."

* * *

Katie had seen him come into the Common Room, she'd seen everyone spring up and surround him, engulfing him in their hellos and questions and how-do-you-dos. She'd seen his eyes light up as he took in the view, taking a look at the portraits and the sofas and the fireplace and his friends. His smile had subtly surfaced, like a shy grin of return. He answered their questions patiently, hugging them all; but his eyes had kept scanning the room. Until they'd found hers.

He started walking towards her, around him everyone smiling and yelling, but he was oblivious. A blur of bodies around, but their gazes fixed.

"Hi," he breathed.

He was close enough to see the texture of her eyes. They were two shining spheres of a vacant sea; blank, expressionless, absent.

She looked away, got up, and walked out of the Common Room. And there he was left, staring at an empty chair and encircled by an excited swarm of people he hadn't seen for almost two years.

* * *

Oliver found her by the dungeons, sitting at the foot of a staircase.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes moist.

"Katie, what's wrong?" he repeated, sitting down next to her and pulling her into a tight embrace.

She pushed him away.

"I wrote to you," she murmured.

"I know," he said softly, putting his arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

She got up, pushing him away again. "I wrote you a letter every week for a _year_."

Her eyes were no longer a null ocean, but pits of sienna ablaze. "And you didn't even bother to send me a line in reply."

"I'm sorry. I really am."

"Do you really think you can walk straight back in here, and pretend that everything's fine? That just by saying _sorry_ you'll make things alright again? After not writing one letter, not sending one card? Not even for Christmas, not even on my birthday? After ignoring me for more than a year?"

Oliver stood up, and walked up to her. Tears clung to her eyelashes like fierce pearls fighting gravity and he could hear her soft enraged breathing.

"I should have written to you, I know. I should have told you about everything that was going on, and I'm sorry I didn't. But Puddlemere was very demanding .All I did every day was train. I barely had enough time to sleep, let alone start writing. And you know how Quidditch captivates me; you know how passionate I am about it; you of all people, should understand that."

"Do you _really_ think that you can use Quidditch as an excuse for disregarding my letters? I wrote you pages, I spilled my heart out to you, I kept sending them, hoping that one day you would bother to reply, that one day an owl would appear at breakfast clutching an envelope with my name written on it in your messy calligraphy."

"I'm incredibly sorry, Katie. I just – I promise I had planned to write, but after that last letter I – I know that there are no excuses for what I did, I understand. But you have to let me in, Katie; you have to give me another chance. We used to be best friends! And I've missed you, I've missed that little girl who used to come cheer at every match, who came to every single practice and listened to everything I had to say," he whispered, and took her hand in his. It was cold as the silence of icicles in caves.

"You've been the only one ever to understand me, Katie. You're still the one who knows me best."

She took her hand away and shook her head.

"I don't know you anymore, Oliver."

Her words bounced off the cold stone walls of the dungeon, piercing his mind like bullets. And in that moment, their friendship shattered.

* * *

He had not meant it to go like this.

He'd expected a warm welcome, an evening of interesting conversation and getting updated on everything that'd been going on, and yes, he'd anticipated Katie's coldness, but not this. He had expected her to understand. He'd hoped she would understand. He'd hoped she would have forgiven him for being such a careless friend, and that this visit would help their relationship going back to being what it was.

But there he was, sitting on the floor of the guest room behind Sir Cadogan's portrait, all alone.

It was almost midnight. After the incident with Katie he had gone back to the Common Room to spend some time with the rest of the Quidditch team and properly caught up with everyone. They'd all been extremely kind to him – Oliver had realized that Katie hadn't told them about the letters she'd written him, or rather, about their lack of replies.

He went up to his trunk and took out a small wooden box from his suitcase. Inside was a thick bundle of letters; Katie's letters. He unfastened the tight knot in the silky scarlet ribbon that held them together, and took the first one out of the envelope.

_11__th__ of July, 1994  
Hello Oliver, I hope you're having a fantastic time at Puddlemere – you better invite us all to your first game. Even if you don't we'll still go, you know. It's odd being home again and playing Quidditch all alone –_

He picked up another one.

_6__th__ of September, 1994  
Dear Oliver,  
The first day back has been incredibly strange: they've announced the Twizard Tournament! I couldn't help but think how if you'd been here you would've been able to put your name into the Goblet of Fire –_

He read through them all, quickly and furiously, his hands trembling as he took the letters out of each envelope, his fingers caressing the rough parchment. By the time he reached the last one, it was almost three in the morning.

And suddenly he noticed a thin piece of parchment lying by the door – his name written in that same deep blue ink as the letters in his hand. He ran across the room, and tore it open.

_Dear Oliver,_

_I don't know what's been going on with you. I know that you're busy, that you don't have time to write back, but I can't help but think that you've forgotten all about us, that you've replaced us with your new friends of elite Quidditch. I promised you that I would write every week, and that's what I've done. I've told you about what's been going on, I told you about the Twizard Tournament and about Harry getting nominated with Cedric and everything that's gone on, although I'm sure you've heard about it in the Prophet. There hasn't been any Quidditch this year, and I suppose that's made me miss you more. Writing to you at least made me feel as though I could still talk to you; still trust you; still have you as my best friend._

_I can't go on like this anymore, Oliver. You've always been there for me; you were the one that I shared Quidditch with, the one I came to for help. I've always trusted you, enjoyed spending time with you. We told each other everything, we confided in each other. But now, all this has reduced to my written monologue. I just want to know one thing: why? Why is it that you cannot even spare one second to write a simple line of a reply? All I need to know is that I still mean something to you. I'm not prepared to keep playing this game, Oliver; for it has reached that level for me – I don't know if you enjoy doing this to me – perhaps it's because you don't know how much you're hurting me._

_There _is_ one thing I've never told you._

_There is one thing that I've never shared with you – not because I don't trust you, but because I was afraid. But now that I've realized that perhaps I don't mean anything to you anymore, I just thought you should know._

_It's only fair._

_It's only fair that you know that I have always been in love with you. Ever since that first day when we met on the Quidditch Pitch. Sure, it wasn't much in the beginning, just a childish infatuation. But that feeling, that simple feeling of mine endured Annie, and Emily, and Grace._

_It was foolish of me to think that you could ever feel that way about me, and I recognize that._

_But I had hoped that our friendship would remain past the years, that we'd be immune to this. Immune to falling apart as ridiculously as we have._

_I don't exactly know why I'm telling you this – but I suppose that it's because if it's the last thing I ever say to you – and be sure that it will be, for I do not plan to keep speaking to you after this, not after the year of disregard you've given me – then it's only right that I tell you what our friendship has meant to me._

_Goodbye._

A tear cascaded down his face and onto the parchment, hitting it hard.

It blurred out the last word on the page.


	4. 1996

**14|October|1996**

"Well done, Wood, great match today!" called Patricia Stones, captain of Puddlemere United, after him.

The Keeper turned around, grinning.

"Thanks. We owe you a swift game, you caught the snitch in no time!" he praised.

Patricia laughed it off. "It wasn't that fast – I've seen quicker games than two hours. But thanks. You've got the afternoon off, haven't you?" she inquired, undoing her Seeker's cloak and untying her hairband as they walked towards the changing rooms.

Oliver nodded.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I was planning to catch up on some reading though," he said.

"Reading? _Reading?_ What for? You're not in school anymore, you know."

"Obviously not; but I've been wanting to get a long-distance Degree in Applied Transfiguration, and there's some few last things I have to go over before my exam – it's next month."

Patricia whistled. "Wow, sporty, handsome _and_ intelligent; that's not a combination one stumbles upon often. You'll have to tell me all about your studies over a butterbeer sometime."

"Sure. See you later," he smiled, walking into the changing room.

"OLIVER!" came a bellow from afar.

He turned around by the door, frowning at the empty field. "WOOD! COME UP HERE!" He finally saw the man calling him; it was Rory Waters, a Chaser from the reserve team.

"What is it, Rory?" he asked, alarmed, after running up the small hill and joining the Chaser in front of the main Puddlemere building.

"There's been a call for you. Someone's in the fireplace asking for you; says it's urgent. A 'life-and-death situation', I quote. You better get in there."

Oliver's eyes widened, his mind struck with fear.

Had his family been attacked? They had no direct connection with the Order of the Phoenix but his parents had been incredibly anti-Death-Eater during the First Wizarding War, and sometimes helped the organisation.

But it wasn't his mother, or his father, or his brother whose face was in the fireplace.

"_Fred_?" Oliver said, astonished.

"It's George, actually. I guess it's the fire that distorts my face into that idiot's–"

"–Hey, don't call me an idiot!" came a voice in the distance.

"Please Fred, it's no time for jokes," stressed George. "Anyway, sorry for butting in on you like this, where you work and all, but we wouldn't have called you unless it was important."

"What is it? What's happened? Is it my family? What's wrong?" asked the Keeper, tense.

"Angelina sent us an owl this morning. Katie's in St. Mungo's."

"WHAT?!" Oliver exclaimed, disconcerted.

"I know mate, that's what we thought too. It's sort of risky to talk about it through this fire-connection-whatever-it-is, but she's been cursed. A necklace or something apparently, while she was in Hogsmeade. It was meant for Dumbledore, but it got her instead."

The Keeper stared at the blazing face disbelievingly. A grim cloud veiled his eyes and his face turned bleakly distraught as the flames cast odd shadows across his cheeks.

"You have to go see her, Oliver. They still don't know how serious it is," started George.

"We know thing's weren't going great between you two after you left," continued Fred, his face appearing between the flames, next to his twins', "but she's been unconscious since Saturday and I know that you wanted to put things right. Go see her; before it's too late."

"Thank you," murmured Oliver. "I – I – this is incredible. What if she never…"

"Don't think like that, mate! She'll wake up. Just, go see her. We were going to try to go today, but you know how the joke-shop business is. We'll see her tomorrow. Sorry we had to tell you, but we just thought you should know."

Oliver nodded. "Thank you. There are just so many things I should've–"

"Say them now then, Wood. Don't waste time talking to us."

* * *

It took him just under five minutes to get from the Floo Arrivals Wing on the fifth floor down to the Artefact Accidents Department.

"I'm here to visit Katie Bell," he said breathlessly to a bored looking receptionist in pince-nez.

"Your name?"

"Oliver Wood, I'm a friend of hers."

"Let me take a look," she said, and got out a bulky velvet book of records. She turned the pages excruciatingly slowly, while Oliver drummed his fingers on the reception desk impatiently.

"Do you really have to go through all of that?" he asked restlessly, "I mean, isn't there like a spell you can cast that will tell you where she is instantly? I'm in a hurry. It's kind of urgent."

She looked up from the thick pages and glared at him through her spectacles, the glaring white light of ward flashing off the lustrous glass.

"Room 267," she announced dryly. "But I'm afraid she cannot receive any visitors at the moment."

"But you have to let me see her!" he cried.

"Sir, please keep your voice down," she hissed.

"Please," he breathed. "She's my best friend. I have to see her. Please."

The secretary blinked, her eyes expressionless and silent for a few moments.

She sighed. "I will speak to Healer Claythorne. But I cannot promise anything. Sit down and wait."

"Thank you!" he called after her retreating figure.

The ex-Gryffindor still couldn't register what was going on. It'd been what, a year since he'd last spoken to Katie? After that disastrous visit to Hogwarts they hadn't seen each other again. Everyone else had been incredibly surprised about their mutual coolness, but no one had dared ask what had happened; it had made for an extremely uncomfortable week.

He'd kept in touch with some of the former members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and the twins kept him posted on what was going on with everyone else. He'd heard how she'd gotten amazing results in her O.W.L.S., that she was still on the Quidditch team (not that this surprised him), that she'd been given the National Bridget Wenlock Arithmancy Award for Excellence following her project on the application of numerical sequence methods to rune-ciphers, that she'd gone to the Easter Ball with Alexander Sable, the Ravenclaw Beater, and that she'd spent the summer working with Maurice Carneiro, internationally acclaimed co-author of _Numerology and Grammatica_. But not once over the past year had they spoken to each other, made real direct contact.

He was almost sure she hated him, and he didn't blame her. After reading her last letter, he'd realized just how much he'd hurt her. And it had hurt him. All that time of disregard and taking her for granted had come gushing back like fifty thousand daggers plunging into his stomach all at once, again and again and again.

He'd tried to write her a letter.

In fact, a drawer in his flat was full of unfinished letters, of incomplete apologies and pleas for forgiveness. But he'd never had the courage to finish or send one.

During all this time, with their relationship admittedly splintered, he'd realized just how much he'd depended on her, how much he'd appreciated her company. And it saddened him to think how accepting her as routine had shattered their friendship, and how it had all been his fault.

Katie was a bold girl. She had fought to keep in contact, she had resisted the urge to hit him and kick his hurtful mind to let go of her rage after he'd ignored her completely; but he, on the other hand… he probably wouldn't have mustered the courage to see her again unless something important had happened.

And it had.

Her life was in peril, her consciousness uncertain.

"Sir," came the soft voice of the spectacled receptionist who had just emerged from the long corridor next to the reception desk, "The Healer says you can go in, but only for a few minutes. She's very weak; her position is exceptionally unstable."

Oliver shot up, rushing through the hallway while he scanned the room numbers on either sides.

Room 267. There it was, right in front of him.

He put his fingers to the handle, and hesitated. What if she hadn't forgiven him? No, he knew that she hadn't; that was not what he was afraid of. What if she had grown to hate him? What if she despised him to the extent that him going into the room was the worst possible thing he could be doing? Memories flashed in his mind, memories they shared – her first Quidditch match, studying in the library, the party after winning the House Cup, her running through the woods during a previous summer…

He went in.

Katie was lying on the only bed in the room, her eyes closed and her face pale as the whisper of the icy winds of winter.

"Good afternoon," said the woman by the bed. "I'm Nurse Tumblerand. The Healer says you can stay here for ten minutes. Then you'll have to leave."

Oliver nodded, his eyes fixed on the Chaser's still body.

"How is she?" he breathed.

"She's in a Post-Contact Shock State, PCSS, it's called. She's been unconscious for two days; we're tracking the movement in her body and all vital organs are functioning correctly but her short-term memory and some other parts of her brain have been affected quite seriously. I'm afraid recovery from this kind of curse is incredibly gradual – patience is the only way forward."

The Keeper walked up to the bed and sat down in the chair next to it. He still could not tear his gaze away from her blank face; that faced which had smiled, cried, laughed and shouted at him. Now it was simply vacant.

"And how long will she be in PSSC?" he inquired softly.

"PCSS," corrected the nurse. "Post-Contact Shock State can last from a couple of hours to a whole week."

"And what next?"

"When she regains consciousness she'll have to be in rehabilitation for a few months… The psychological damage of the curse cannot be determined until she moves from PCSS, so at this moment we do not know how long it will take for her to recover mentally. We have detected that the curse has also affected parts of her brain that control the locomotive system, and although we still cannot know the extent of the impairment, again physical recovery will be slow, two months at least, from what we know now."

Oliver's hands had begun to tremble. His eyes grew tearful, but he was quick to dry them.

Katie Bell, the soaring, flying, dancing Chaser, in a bed in St. Mungo's for months. The mere thought of all she was going to suffer was incredible. And all because of a conspiracy gone wrong. Who was she to deserve this? Nobody. In Oliver's eyes, she was the smartest, the bravest of them all. She was the last person this sort of thing should have happened to. And yet, there she was, lying unmoving all alone in a white room covered with a green blanket.

He felt sorry for everything he'd done. He wished he could pull it all away, he wished he could whisk away the sorrow he'd made her go through, take it back and cast it into the confines of oblivion.

"I'm sorry sir, but you're going to have to go now. The Healer needs to take a look at her and you've already been here for three minutes more than what you were meant to," apologized the nurse from the doorway.

Oliver got up, kissed the top of Katie's forehead, and walked into the corridor, ushered by Nurse Tumblerand. Healer Claythorne, who had been waiting in the hallway, smiled grimly at him and went in to the room.

"When will I be able to see her again?" he asked the nurse.

"Unfortunately Miss Bell will not be allowed any more visitors apart from her family until she regains consciousness. Letting you in was an exceptional case, seeing that you'd made it here and were so insistent we authorised your visit, but technically you would not have been permitted to see her. I can only advise you to get in touch with her parents so they can contact you once she's awake. I'm sorry."

He nodded, and after expressing his thanks, made his way down the bleakly ivory corridor.

"Would you like me to give her a message when she wakes up, sir?" called the nurse from next to the door.

He turned around.

"Tell her Oliver Wood was here. Tell her that I'm sorry."

* * *

**Wow so thank you for reading this :)  
All reviews and feedback appreciated, please tell me what you think!  
I really wanted to write this scene and by a lucky coincidence, the Necklace Incident happens in October, so this was perfect! I'm sorry for all the angst in these chapters, but this is how I see their relationship to be like; it isn't all fun and games in friendship and love, you know. Anyway, I'm really looking forward to the next chapter, and so should you be!  
Special shout-out to toujours-belle and Day Met The Night, my two faithful readers of this story 3**


	5. 2001

**14|October|2001**

A vast marquee of creamy velvet hung in the air above the chairs, the sunlight painting mystifying shadows all across it. Katie walked through the crowd hesitantly, trying to make her way around the groups of people she only knew by sight and find some of her friends. At last she recognized Angelina standing in a corner with George.

"Katie! You look absolutely gorgeous! Alicia's going to have a _fit_ when she sees you in that dress… It's been too long, you've got to tell me all about everything!"

Katie smiled. "Well, I had to make it here as fast as possible, didn't I? I wouldn't miss this dinner for the world! Great idea, Hermione had, to make this Dumbledore's Army Reunion and get the rest of the people that fought in the Battle of Hogwarts to meet after so long… I must say that I've only recognized a few people from Hogwarts hallways or the papers, where is everyone else? You both look very elegant, by the way."

"Thanks," said George, "It's great to see you again, Katie. We'd started to think you had crawled into a cave and forgotten about the rest of us!"

She laughed. "No, I've just been incredibly busy. Since I graduated from the National Institute of Arithmancy last year I've been working in Greece in an international Magical Edifice Project, and it's been amazing…"

"Sounds great," remarked Angelina, "But can we catch up on this later? I've just seen Helen Dupont come in and I have to go say hello to her, she was my Beauxbatons exchange partner…"

"Yes, of course," said Katie, "I'll go see who else is around."

* * *

Oliver looked at himself uncertainly in the mirror. He was wearing dark green robes, with a light striped tie and polished black shoes. His hair had grown quite a bit over the last few months, and now radiated around his head messily.

_This is it_, he thought, and stepped into the fireplace.

When he arrived in the Weasley parlour, he realized everything had changed drastically… What was once the living room was now full of fashionably robed guests and elegantly uniformed waiters zigzagging through the crowd, and all around him the visitors chatted relaxedly.

In the corner he recognized Aurelius Wizzington, Seeker of the Chudley Cannons, talking to Edward Minters, the new Minister for Finance. There were a few more familiar faces, but he hadn't seen any of his friends.

Oliver walked out of the living room (or reception? was that what it was now?) and outside into the open air. He found himself under the ivory golden marquee, still alone in the gleaming sunlight.

And all of a sudden, his eyes caught a gaze that they remembered.

Two gleaming hazel rings watching him from afar.

A tall, gracious figure in a stunning steel blue dress walked towards him; her long hazel locks tied back and pinned in place by miniscule pearls that glistened in the sunshine.

"Hello, Oliver," she said, her cheeks flushing lightly.

"Good afternoon, Katie," he breathed, lost of words.

It had been a few years since they had last seen each other. He'd never gone back to visit her as St. Mungo's… It been hard enough with her unconscious, and he quite simply hadn't mustered the courage to face her once she was awake.

Instead he'd written to her, tried to make up for the idiot he'd been before. He told her about his games, his matches, his quirky friends and demanding captain; he described the places he visited and the new people he met and the few girls that expressed an interest in him.

And she'd written back.

They'd spent five years sharing their monthly-or-so correspondence through writing, meeting very occasionally at some event at the Weasleys'.

And after the war… Well, in previous years similar events had taken place to commemorate the day that Voldemort was defeated, although most of these had been organised by the Ministry and all rather formal. This was the first familiar sort of event.

But life had gone on.

And now, in the Weasleys' Marquee, they met again.

"It's been a long time," said Oliver.

"Yes," Katie replied.

They stood in silence for a few moments.

"Thank you for writing," she continued. "It was nice – reading your letters."

Oliver shrugged. "No problem, it was the least I could do."

"And thank you for – well, you know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"But I don't know…?"

Katie averted her gaze, looking hesitantly at her hands.

"For visiting me in St. Mungo's. I know it was long ago, but I never properly said thanks. And it did help me. It helped a lot knowing – knowing that you cared," she finished, looking up at him.

He shrugged. "I should've have visited you once you were awake but – I just wasn't sure if it was wise. If it would be good for you… But that's all over now. It doesn't matter anymore – we're fine now, and that's what counts."

* * *

They'd sat Katie between Angelina and Leanne, and Oliver was just a few seats away, though not close enough to have a conversation. Angelina noticed Katie's occasional glances towards him.

"You and Oliver," she muttered softly, "Are things – you know – back to normal now? Last time I saw you, you weren't sure about how everything was going between you two…"

Katie smiled. "We're friends again. He wrote to me quite a bit after I left St. Mungo's… At first it was strange to try to go on after how things ended but like I said, we're good now."

"Well, that's great," replied Angelina, "But keep in mind that while he was busy snogging Annie and Grace and Emily, you were busy writing silly love poems in that little diary of yours."

"Hey!" Katie protested, "I did _not_ write silly love poems! I simply kept a diary and - that was private! I should've known to put some kind of spell on it – oh dear, this is embarrassing."

Angelina laughed. "Don't worry, my dear. Your secret's safe with me… Just – burn them or something."

* * *

"So, you're leaving now, then?" Oliver asked from behind her.

Katie jumped. "You startled me… I was just getting my coat. Yes. Yes, I am going."

"Oh." He stood next to her silently until the uneasiness in the air was too much for her.

"Right. I'll be off then," she remarked, pulling her coat around her. "It was nice seeing you."

She hesitated, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then walked out of the marquee without looking back.

"What am I doing?" mumbled Oliver to himself, and ran after her. "Hey! Katie! Wait!"

She turned around, her eyes wide and gleaming with surprise.

"What is it?"

"I – was just wondering – would you like to – I don't know – take a walk – have a butterbeer or something – hang out with me?"

Her eyes lit up, and he could recognise in them the same shimmering touch of thrill that took over her gaze when he had first offered to teach her to fly.

"I'd love to."

* * *

The evening had been fantastic. They had wandered around London, got a bite to eat in a lovely little muggle coffee shop just a few minutes away from Diagon Alley and recounting the last few years of their lives to each other as the sky above turned from glowing blue to dusky black.

"… and that was when I told him that enough was enough and threw him out!" concluded Katie, while Oliver almost choked on his third butterbeer, laughing.

"I can't help but feel incredibly sad for that guy – the poor man only wanted to take you for dinner on Valentine's Day –"

"I know," she interrupted, "But it's not my fault that he accidentally set my house on fire, alright? I don't do pyromaniacs, I'm afraid."

Oliver shook his head, grinning.

"Poor Edwin Gregson. Oh, well. Last time I heard from him I think he was in Ireland, working on some fieldwork for his History of Magic Degree – Merlin knows why he chose to do that course – the only thing you get out of it is to be as excruciatingly boring as Professor Binns!"

A slim waiter in uniform suddenly appeared by their table.

"I'm afraid we're closing now," she said apologetically, placing their bill on the table. Katie took out her wallet, paid for their orders and they left the little coffee shop, the door tinkling behind them as they opened it to the cold gushing wind and light drizzle outside.

"Do you always carry muggle money around with you?" asked Oliver as they strolled down the street.

Katie shrugged. "Usually. I find it much more relaxing to be around muggles that don't know anything about what I do – it makes me loosen up, be more comfortable sometimes. They never care about what you do; I like to get lost in the anonymity of London. For us, on the other hand, everyone knows everyone and you always see a familiar face…"

"I see what you mean," Oliver replied. "So. What should we do now?"

She stopped walking. They were standing next to a dim lamppost, and its feeble mustard glow was barely enough to see each other's faces in the darkness.

"Well," started Katie, "I know it's late, but my flat's nearby and I'm enjoying being with you like the old days again – do you want to keep telling me about that crazy flatmate of yours you had?"

He was indecisive for a few moments, but in the end, nodded. As they made their way down the streets, he couldn't help but tune out of the anecdote Katie was describing to collect his thoughts. The day had been incredibly confusing – they'd had a fantastic time together, and it was in times such as this one that he missed their old relationship.

Yet, seeing her after so many years had also come as a bit of a shock; he'd known she'd changed, he'd sensed it in her letters, he'd known about what had gone on in her life but this – this was different. He had expected a new Katie, a strong independent and intelligent Katie… But he had been completely unprepared for the stunning captivating woman that he had encountered.

"Oliver? Are you listening to me?" she asked, feigning annoyance as she opened the door to her flat.

"Yes, sorry; just having a bit of a moment here… Wow, the place looks amazing!" he exclaimed, taking in the living room they were standing in.

"It's not much," said Katie, "But I've tried to make it my own."

The walls were a faint creamy colour, and all around were framed pictures from Hogwarts, a couple of posters of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, one of Puddlemere United (Oliver noted with a smile), a picture of what seemed to be Katie in Greece next to a glowing half-constructed building…

There was a slim balcony opposite the door, and they could see a gleam of yellow light from the streets across dark inky skies above. Katie took off her shoes and sat herself on her sofa.

"Well, make yourself at home," she smiled.

"Can I perhaps use the loo?" asked Oliver.

"Of course! Just through there and first door on the left," she indicated.

Once Oliver had gone through, Katie threw herself on her couch. The day had been long, and it had been strange to spend so much time with him, but she had enjoyed it. Being with Oliver had been like travelling back to a time when she could just sort of relax and do whatever and forget about everything else – and she'd missed that. Truth to be told, she'd missed _him_. In the past five years she'd gone out with plenty of people, even had a couple of serious boyfriends, but now she realized that she still felt most at home with Oliver. It was true that their interaction was a bit awkward and uncomfortable at times – what with everything that had gone on between them – but it was equally evident that the fact that their relationship had survived for so long meant that they shared a deep bond that time had not eroded.

She took of her shoes and tossed them by her side. She wasn't entirely sure of where it all was going – her mind was muddled and unsure of what to think; but she knew one thing for sure: that she was not going to let all this, whatever it was, disappear from her again.

It had stopped drizzling outside, and Katie got up and opened the balcony doors. A gentle gust of wind blew into the living room, and she stood there, barefoot, gazing down at the flickering lights on the street, her hands perched on the sleek steel balustrade.

She suddenly felt Oliver's presence behind her, but she stayed where she was, still looking down at the street, her hands still on the railing. His hands set themselves on her hips, and she could hear his soft breathing behind her.

She turned around.

Their faces were only a few inches apart, and Katie found herself staring deep into his eyes – two gazing orbs like a pair of sable pebbles cast into the confines of his soul. And slightly unexpectedly but all at once – he leaned in and kissed her.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," he whispered, his voice trembling.

And from then it was a blur of her lips on his and they weren't standing in the balcony anymore but in her bedroom, his hands were pulling her closer towards him, their clothes were discarded through the hallway and their bodies wrapped tightly around each other, she could feel his heated breath on her flesh as she quivered beneath his touch – and oh, did it feel good.

* * *

_So only two more chapters to go!  
I would be incredibly thankful for any reviews left so you can all tell me what you think! ^^ What did you think about this chapter? All feedback is welcome! :D  
_

_Shoutout to my latest loyal reader - reppad98! And thank you all for your kind reviews and follows and everything :)_


	6. 2010

**14|October|2010**

Katie's eyes were glued to the screen.

The images unfolded, fast, movement innate in their evolution and life manifesting itself violently in their message.

She felt his arm wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her closer to his chest. She took a bit of popcorn and kept her gaze on the film.

They'd been together for an incredibly long time now. After meeting again after such an extended spell of time, it'd been almost inevitable for them not to want to spend time together – that's what renouncing old friends does to you: it brings them springing back like asteroids the moment you cross their paths again.

Time, and the war, had changed things in Wizarding society – and it had changed them too. Katie found that she spent more time mingling with muggles, and she was awe-struck by their amazing technology and magicless lifestyles that seemed to unfold so easy and matter-of-factly. And he'd been more open with her, more honest and clear than they'd ever been at school.

Truth to tell, Katie hadn't expected everything to go so smoothly. After that wonderful and unexpected night nine years ago, it had all gone crazy. But she had left to Greece for her architecture project and he'd spent the next couple of years travelling around the world, in a new place every week. It was a relationship doomed to the parting of ways, to the cruel whims of fate and coincidence.

And yet, they had met again.

One warm night of summer 2004 in Athens, she had run into him in a restaurant; a casual meeting at the hands of chance, but this time, it had been different. This time, they had sat down, not gotten ahead of themselves, played it real.

Katie's project was just about to finish that winter and he had been offered a place back in London, so they promised to meet again once they'd both settled back home.

And they did. They went about it subtly, almost shyly, as if trying not to break the atmosphere, and try not to ruin things once more – the awkwardness had disappeared slowly but surely, and in the end it was nothing more than an embarrassing memory.

They had had their ups and downs, yes, but eventually everything always fell back into place – they ended up moving in together, and finally, after four years of taking things slow, he proposed.

She'd accepted. The last years had been absolutely sensational – they'd gone all around the world, visited old friends, both really reflected on what they wanted from their relationship and where it was going – and although nothing had been the way Katie had originally thought it would be, she was entirely certain that there was no man she would more gladly give her heart to.

They were going to be married in December.

And she was the happiest woman alive.

* * *

Oliver took one final look at the schedule and sighed. It was going to be a long day tomorrow. He'd taken the day off just because, and it had been fantastic, but he'd forgotten just how much he was going to have to do the next day – ever since he'd moved back to London the managers were putting an incredible amount of pressure on him as the Captain of Puddlemere United. Still, everything was going well and Quidditch had never been a problem for him.

There was a knock on the door.

Surprised, Oliver went to answer it; it wasn't normal to get visitors this late, it was already dinnertime.

A slim figure in a tightly buttoned scarlet blouse and a suspiciously short black skirt was standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Oliver," she spoke.

Her green eyes bore into him like daggers, piercing the innards of his soul instantly.

"Uh – wh – hi," he stuttered.

"I'm here to help you in any way I can," she muttered, batting her eyelashes, and took a step closer to him. "And when I say any… I mean _any_."

He coughed uncomfortably.

"Sorry, you've got the wrong guy – I'm engaged – sorry."

She laughed, pushing him aside and barging into the flat.

"I was only joking, Ollie! Merlin, I can't believe you fell for that! Wait till George hears about this, he'll remind you until you breathe your last breath… Don't you recognise me?" she demanded.

Oliver still stared at her from the doorway.

"Oh, close that door already; anyone would've thought you'd seen a Dementor," she said, walking up to him and shutting the door. "It's me! Alicia! Oh god, you really didn't recognise me, did you?"

"I can't believe it!" exclaimed Oliver, "Wow… Alicia! That's absolutely – oh Merlin – please excuse my little outburst – this is incredible – sorry about that – you look so different!"

Alicia laughed, and sat down on the sofa. "Well, I got this fantastic muggle boyfriend a few years ago and he was a film director and he said I was a great actress and I actually starred in one of his films – and they turned me into this! I quite liked the look, what they did to my hair and the whole new air they gave me – so I kept it! Got bored of him though, he wasn't much of a sporty man… Also, you haven't seen ever since that crazy Dumbledore's Army dinner party thing which sort of justifies your not knowing who I was… although that doesn't mean that I totally forgive you for forgetting one of your loveliest schoolfriends!"

Oliver smiled. Now that she was back, he realized he'd missed Alicia's non-stop banter. He'd cursed it at school, always blamed her for distracting the team and whatnot, but listening to her again just made him want to laugh until the end of his days – she truly could _not_ stop talking.

"I can't wait until she sees you like this," he said, "she's going to be absolutely thrilled."

"I've been wanting to see your _fiancée_ again, after so many years," she remarked, grinning. "Sounds so fancy, doesn't it, _fiancée_?Slightly flamboyant and superfluously jazzy, might I add. _Fianceé_…"

"Oh, shut up!" he laughed, throwing a cushion at her. "She'll be here soon enough, she's just gone down to get something from the bakery across the street."

"I knew that you two would be together…" started Alicia. "I simply _knew_ when we were at school that there was _something_ about you two that simply clicked…"

* * *

Katie gave the woman two pounds and waited for her change.

The bread was warm and crisp in her hands, and the mouth-watering smell of muffins just made her want to buy the entire store.

"Here you go, there's sixty pence and a penny change, have a good evening!"

The street was deserted, not a soul in sight. She smiled to herself as she walked across the road – tonight was important, and everything had to be perfect. She'd made dinner while he was looking over a few last things for work the following day – she'd made fried aubergines and some fresh tomato relish, a little dish she'd picked up in her days in Greece.

Tonight was the night that she would tell him.

That she'd tell him they were going to have a child.

Katie darted up the stairs, beaming as she rushed up the steps. She hoped that he hadn't grown too restless – she'd spent a few minutes chatting to the baker, a friendly old woman that loved soap operas and had lost a son due to cancer. She was the typical muggle figure that Katie admired; living and going on with everything oblivious of the magical world around her and the hard lifestyle she had compared to the easiness with which wizards and witches could conjure solutions to practically anything, yet she was still happy, still hopeful despite everything that had happened to her. Katie found that it was a common trait in muggles: they seemed to endure the casualties of existence, the fatalities of time – they possessed a sort of inherent optimism that she had rarely observed within the magical society.

"I'm home!" she exclaimed, as she closed the front door behind her.

She was greeted with silence.

"Hello? My dear, where are you?" She set the bread down on the kitchen table, pulled off her coat, and wandered over to the study were he usually spent the evening, reading a book or pondering over the latest Quidditch strategies.

She found him.

But he wasn't reading a book, or analysing any game technique, or going over his agenda.

He was there, at the foot of the ladder that he used to get hold of the publications kept on the upper shelves of his small library, with a book beside him: _The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,_ by Robert Louis Stevenson. It was his favourite book, despite it being written by a muggle author.

He lay there; his eyes wide open but glazed with a peculiar plastic patina, a pool of thick scarlet blood beneath his head.

Alexander Sable was lying there, dead.

* * *

"Hello?" said Oliver, as he picked up his mobile phone. Almost everyone he knew had one now – after the mugglisation of the Wizarding World following the defeat of Voldemort, wizards had grown used to such muggle technologies and found ways to harmonise it with magic.

"Who is it?" asked Alicia from the dinner table between mouthfuls of spaghetti carbonara.

"If it's my mother tell her that we've postponed the dinner with the family until next month," called Grace beside her.

Oliver's face had gone pale.

"It's Katie," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Grace frowned. "What is she doing calling at this hour?"

He put the phone down; letting it bounce off the seat he'd aimed it at and onto the floor.

"Well? What is it, Ollie?" demanded Alicia, intrigued.

"It's Alexander Sable."

"They're going to get married aren't they?" inquired Alicia. "He's a nice guy, he was my potions partner once. Quite the genius. Good-looking, too. Although he wasn't much of a –"

Grace shot her a fierce look, to which Alicia shut up instantly, and she got up nervously, and placed an arm around her fiancé. "What is it, my dear? What's happened with Alexander?"

He looked up at them both.

"He's dead."

Alicia choked on her spaghetti. "You can't be serious?!"

"How?" asked Grace, distressed.

"He fell off a ladder and bumped his head on the floor. Katie just found him when she came back. Sh-she must be devastated…" he whispered, his voice drifting off into the silence.

* * *

_Okay so the idea for this one just popped into my head although I'm really sure of where I'm going with this now... All feedback welcome and thanks to all you lovely reviewers! It's been an absolute PLEASURE writing for you and I hope that you've enjoyed this too... It's by far the story that I'm most proud of, so thank you thank you thank you for sharing this experience with me. I promise to get the last chapter up soon... We'll see how it all goes in the meantime... I'd be really happy to recieve any review ^^ Shout out to all my readers, especially Katie/Oliver's latest conquest, dimitrisgirl18! :)_


	7. 2020

**14|October|2020**

"What was he like, mum?"

"He was just like you," she started, sitting down next to her son on the wooden bench. "You remind me so much of him – you have his grey eyes and flaxen hair. And the odd freckles on your cheeks? He had them, too."

"I know mother, I've seen pictures. But what was he like in person?" Alexander asked softly.

Katie took a deep breath before replying, and then looked straight into her son's eyes. It was true – they were just like his father's: stone silver like a flash of raw steel.

"He was a very intelligent man. Everyone had high expectations for him: his parents, his professors… He was a great Quidditch player, like me. We didn't know each other very well until my fourth year, his fifth – he was a year older than me – but the moment we were introduced there was something about him that fascinated me. You have it too," she said, turning to Alexander.

"I do?" the nine-year-old asked, raising an eyebrow. He was puzzled.

"Yes," she nodded, and pulled him into an embrace. "It has to do with the way you listen to everyone. Your father was a real listener, you could confide in him naturally; I had only known who he was for two weeks and I'd already told him all about my life."

They were silent for a few moments. It grew cloudier in St Catherine's Graveyard. There was no one else there, and the sun's simple rays filtered through the thick clouds overhead.

"Was he friends with Dad?" said Alexander suddenly, turning towards his mother.

Katie shook her head. "They barely knew each other. Alexander never really spent time with us and it was only because he was Alicia's friend that we were introduced. Oliver left before I even knew him well."

Alexander sat in silence, thinking.

"Do you think he would've liked Father?"

"I – I think he would have. I think they would have gotten along very well," she whispered. "Shall we take a walk?"

They got up, and Katie took her son's hand in hers.

"Mum! Please, I'm not a child anymore," he said, giving her an annoyed look.

She laughed, but let go. They ambled down the pathway, wandering between the trees that grew around the graves.

"I just want you to know that your father would have been very proud of you, Alexander," she said after a while. "You're already very good at simple magic and you'll be going off to Hogwarts next year. Who knows? You could be the next star Beater!"

"Or Keeper," remarked Alexander.

"True," smiled his mother. "Or Keeper. But it doesn't matter too much, my dear. It doesn't even matter whether you play Quidditch at all – although with the family you come from, it's very likely you'll be the next Victor Krum –"

"Who was Victor Krum? Is he the player you have a little newspaper cut-out of in that old album of yours?"

Katie laughed in surprise. "Since when do you go through my school albums, Alex? I thought I told you not to go near that box!"

"I don't, mum! I swear I don't!" he declared. "Dad and I were looking through it yesterday to see pictures of you in school. He showed me some where you both appeared with the Quidditch Cup, and then some in Hogsmeade, and others around the castle. You were good friends at school, weren't you?"

"Yes; we were," Katie replied, thinking back. "He was really obsessed with Quidditch. And I guess I was as well…that brought us together."

"But he was engaged to someone else before you, wasn't he? What happened with her?"

"Have you asked him? He should really be the one to explain that to you. It's his story to tell."

Alexander shrugged, crumpling a rusting leaf as he walked on ahead to the next wooden bench.

"He said that I'd understand when I was older. But that was a few years ago."

Katie sat with him again. There was no one she loved more in the world than her son. It had been incredibly painful to go through the first few months after Alexander's, her fiancé's, death, but the birth of her son opened up a whole new world of possibilities.

She'd named him after his father, of course. It was the least she could do to remember him. Her parents had made her move in with them, and they'd helped her a lot during the first months of her motherhood.

And then Oliver had appeared one day at her doorstep. With a bouquet of purple hyacinths in his hands.

_"I'm sorry. For everything."_

_Katie stood in the doorway, holding tiny Alexander in her arms._ _"Why? Why are you here?" she asked uncertainly._

_Oliver hesitated before replying._ _"I wanted to see how you were doing. You know, congratulate you. For the baby. I realized that I never really got around to doing that properly. So, here I am."_

_"Katherine! Who is it?" Someone shouted from upstairs._

_She rolled her eyes. "It's Oliver, father! Remember? Oliver from school?" she shouted back, shaking her head. "You'd better come in," she said to Oliver._

_He went after her into the parlour and sat down on a comfortable blue settee. His eyes followed her as she set the baby down in a small wooden cradle near the fireplace. The flames roared red and orange, the embers glowing with intensity._

_"Here, hand over the flowers," she directed, grabbing a sleek empty vase from a nearby table. "Thank you, by the way."_

_He dismissed her words with a shake of his head. "It was the least I could do."_

_Katie finally sat down on a sofa in front of him after setting the now full vase back on the table._

_"Well, tell me how you've been." Oliver started._

_She took a deep breath._

_"I don't know where to start… The past months have been absolutely out of control; I never imagined being a mother would be this hard," she said. "It's been difficult to, you know, keep moving forward after…after what happened."_

_"I understand Katie – I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. And don't say it was because we lost touch. I'm not surprised that you stopped replying to my letters after all I did was send you short postcards from wherever I was. It was selfish – and I promised myself it wouldn't happen again after our first…fall-out. I guess the fame got to my head."_

_She laughed._

_"The Great Oliver Wood, eh? Did you really make it_that _high?"_

_Oliver looked at her, his eyes feigning deep shock and indignation. "Where did you spend the last decade, Katie? I was all over the place! In the Prophet, on the radio… Hell, I even made it to the cover of Witches' Weekly and you didn't know I'd become the next Quidditch hotshot?"_

_Katie shook her head, cracking a smile._

_"I guess my mind was on other things… I was in Greece, on a project that I loved! But… hotshot, huh? Is that what you are?" she inquired mockingly._

_"More like what I was. They've taken a liking to that Chaser from the Chudley Cannons, Edward Quingfire. He completely does not live up to the expectations I left."_

_"Yes, I'm sure you still consider yourself the most handsome Quidditch Captain around," she replied, chuckling._

_They looked at each other for a few moments, their gazes saying more than the thick silence that nestled between them. The years had gone by, but there was still chemistry between them. A good friendship vanquished the effects of time._

They had continued to see each other after that, and he'd told her all about his life during the past years. How he'd been promoted to the first team after a couple of years in Puddlemere and then finally he'd been given the role of Captain. They'd won quite a few Cups. And then England had taken him for the World Cup.

He'd also told her about how everything had just backfired with Grace. That she'd become distant and unreachable after he came back from the World Cup, and that later on she'd confessed that she'd been seeing someone else while he'd been gone. They were divorced by the following year.

And from there, things just went naturally with Katie. Their past had its ups and downs, but deep down they'd both always known that somehow, their paths were bound to cross again.

It had been for good that time.

"Mum? Did you hear me?"

Katie blinked back into the present, to find her son looking quizzically at her.

"Sorry dear, what were you saying?"

Alexander stood up.

"Can we go to see my father's grave now?"

"Of course, darling."

_Alexander Cyril Sable__  
__beloved son and friend__  
__"The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living."  
7__th__ November 1979 – 14__th__ October 2010_

Mother and son stood in silence around the tombstone. The russet leaves of autumn danced around them in the cold breeze, settling on the fading green grass.

Alexander looked at his mother. A single clear tear was falling down her cheeks, reddened by the raw chilling air.

"Did he know about me, mother?"

Katie dried her face, though her gaze remained sorrowful. "No. I was going to tell him the day he…the day he died."

Her son looked at his shoes, disappointed.

"But he would have been so proud of you, Alexander. He would have loved you more than anything in this world, understand?"

He nodded.

"Come here," she said, opening her arms to him. "I want you to make sense of what happened between me and Alexander, and me and Oliver. Your father was an exceptional man. He was kind, intelligent, funny, and a great friend. I loved him very much, but I need you to understand that I was very young when he died. Then I came across Oliver again after you had been born and – well, he proposed, and it was hard to accept the fact that I wanted to marry him, because of how much your father had meant to me, and because I had you, and somehow I felt that I would be betraying Alexander. But it was then that I realized that he would have wanted me to go on. He wouldn't have wanted me, wouldn't have wanted _you_ to mourn him forever; he would have wanted us to continue our lives and be happy."

She let go of her son, and put her hands on his shoulders, making him look straight into her eyes. For a second, she saw her old lover there – the deep silver irises of Alexander Sable looking straight at her.

"Oliver has been a great father to you, and I know that you love him, but I wanted to make sure that the doubts I had about betraying Alexander never crossed your mind. I am sure that your father is looking down on us now smiling, happy that we remember and honour him, pleased that you will grow up to be as fine of a young man as himself."

"Did you love him, mother? Did you love Alexander?"

"Of course I did, my dear."

"But," her son said, raising a finger in inquiry, "do you love Father?"

Katie smiled.

"Yes; very much."

* * *

**A/N: **The quote used on Alexander Sable's epitaph is full copyright of Marcus Tallius Cicero.  
Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and followed this story; it really means a lot to me! And to my great last-minute beta, dimistrisgirl18! :)


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